Burned by Blue Fire
by K. Leigh Anne
Summary: 'Three years into WWIII and it's a game of who falls to their knees first.' Arthur Kirkland is an evacuee, shipped to America to escape the worst of the raids and bombings and fighting. There, he meets Alfred Jones. Together they pull through the war, and a rocky friendship might just become something more. USUK. Alfred and Arthur's POV.
1. Chapter 1

War is a funny thing.

Of course, funny as in strange, peculiar and all shades of wrong and confusing. War is not something you laugh at as you would a joke.

And war is either small-scale or simply huge. You can have a war with a sibling or a friend over a petty misunderstanding, or you can have two or more countries clashing together, causing fear and bloodshed and poverty and death.

War is not a laughing matter.

And for what do we take part in them?

If worldwide peace is something millions strive for, it seems rather funny indeed that we fight one another in order to have it.

Here, we are talking full-blown, country-clashing war. To be precise so you do not misinterpret, we are talking World War Three.

Yes, a third world war. It has lasted a year, once, twice, thrice. Three years. The United States of America against North Korea. England and Germany were to become allies with the U.S.A., with China and Japan allying with Korea.

One, two, three years into WWIII, and it is a game of who falls to their knees first.

... ... ...

JANUARY 4th, 2017, SOUTH FLORIDA

I've heard a lot of people call it immigration, when in actuality it's just a fancy or not-so-fancy cover up for evacuation. Especially now, in the middle of World War Three, it was definitely evacuation.

Daily processes and what-not had become a norm, even though this was my first time doing what I had been assigned to. Being nineteen, I had a certain job.

Americans who weren't going to fight were being ordered around depending on their age. Under-twenties like myself had to be sent out with hundreds of other young adults to the coast where we had to wait for English and German evacuees. It was very specific. We were each put together with an evacuee and we had to explain the basic safety drills and what people did during the day.

Considering this was World War Three, it was all very orderly.

After three years, anniversary being today, the hype had died down and now we were just living extremely rough and hoping every day was not our last.

Each and every day you hear explosions, screams and cries. Nobody ever knows where the next missile will hit or when the next Korean raiders bombard the rural areas. The post-apocalyptic looking remains makes Detroit look like a luxury hotel.

But we were used to it.

I had been made to wait for an Englishman, whose name was Kirkland. I wouldn't know his first name until he stepped off that ship and I went up to him. All you are told is the surname, nationality and gender.

It was about ten in the morning, and the sun was shining blindingly down on the south coast of Florida. The pavement below my feet was scalding, and I had to hop from foot to foot and keep a straight face. Sweat dripped down my face and my glasses kept slipping down my nose. Frustrated, I pushed them up continuously with every passing minute.

The ship was already anchored and people were being called off and sent to various Americans. Guides, you could call us. The kids called them 'war buddies'. I thought that was a nicer term and I often used it myself.

The air was humid and hot and I could practically feel how thick and heavy it was. Not nice.

The sooner this Kirkland guy got off the boat the better.

"Jones?"

I looked up as my surname was called and saw a tall man in uniform waving me over. I hurried on and I was pointed to my 'war buddy'.

"Over there. Make sure he knows what's what and don't anger him. He's got quite the temper. Makin' a fuss a majority of the way."

I smiled and nodded, making my way over to him. At the sound of my footsteps on the cracked wood of the docks, he turned and looked me up and down.

"You Kirkland?" I asked, just to be sure.

"That would be me," he said. "Arthur Kirkland."

"Great, you just follow me then and we'll get you to the campsite."

"You seem awfully cheery, considering we're in the midst of a world war and half the worldwide population is dead." He said in a clipped accent.

I pushed my glasses up my nose again. "Well you get used to it after three years. You don't gotta let every part of the war throw you into mourning, right?"

Arthur raised an unusually thick eyebrow. "Right."

"Right. Well, c'mon Artie, we gotta go if you don't wanna miss lunch at the camp. Hope you're used to walking long distances."

"Arthur."

"Huh?"

"My name is Arthur. Kindly refrain from calling me 'Artie' or any other pet name."

I stared at him for a moment before grinning, nodding and waving him after me. I could hear him grumbling under his breath about 'how damn bossy' I was.

I still smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

JANUARY 4th, 2017, SOUTH FLORIDA

I couldn't help but notice how stubborn and awkwardly resilient this Brit was. Sure, he wasn't as strong or as enduring as me, but he certainly wouldn't give up for anything. I noticed this first when we had been walking for two hours straight and he had denied my offers of rest. Four times.

He was either extremely sturdy and immune to exhaustion, or he was just showing off.

The sun was beginning to set into evening, and the air became hotter and thicker and more humid than before. I looked over my shoulder at Arthur and saw him pushed his sandy blonde hair back out of his eyes. I gave him a lopsided smile.

"Rest?"

"No."

"We've been walking for two hours, Artie-"

"Arthur."

"We've been walking for two hours, Arthur," I restarted. "Surely you've gotta be tired?"

He narrowed his dulled emerald eyes at me. "The sooner we get to this blasted camp the better. Can we get going already? Stop slowing down and trying to look after me like a child."

Jeez, the guy at the docks wasn't lying when he said he was temperamental. Still, I nodded and puffed my cheeks out as I exhaled loudly and continued trekking through landscape that gradually transformed into what was left of Miami; crumbling buildings and derelict streets.

Surprisingly enough, it was still lively and a lot of people acted as though they had never even heard of WWIII. Arthur looked extremely dumbfounded when two kids ran up to us and attacked him with dirty water guns, leaving him with a soaked jacket and an irritated face.

I laughed and he didn't look happy.

He followed me through streets filled with people all gathered around small makeshift markets, others chatting idly and a few were packing things up. Arthur questioned that.

"We're leaving to go further West tomorrow. Someone's heard that a bunch of missiles are aimed-" I gestured around before pointing to a building. "-pretty much there."

Arthur's eyes widened. "This doesn't sound so safe anymore."

"Relax. As long as I'm by your side, you'll know what to do."

The Englishman scoffed, and I continued making my way through the narrow markets, squeezing past people and stalls with Arthur by my heels. When we finally got out of the crowd, we carried on to a small one-storey warehouse. I spread my arms out to it.

"Home sweet home."

Arthur looked nonplussed. Maybe that was just his default expression, a fixed face. Not stoic, but plain looking. Only now did I get a really good look at him as I waited for a better response.

It sounds stupid now that I think about it, but Arthur just had an English look about him. To me, it was the way his hair was choppy and looked as if it had never met a comb. In a good way. Maybe if he coloured it really bright, like neon green or red, he'd look really punky.

But his dusky golden hair was a perfect match for his eyes. His eyes that were bright and shining now, instead of dull and tired-looking like earlier.

Arthur was smaller than I was. Shorter, maybe a bit thinner, coming to a bit above my shoulder. You can take one look at him and tell I had more muscle than him too, but he didn't look fragile, no, not at all. He just looked like he could pack a punch, by speech and action.

"So are we going in?"

I blinked. "Uh...?"

"The warehouse, are we going inside or not?"

"Oh! Sure, come on."

I pushed the door open and allowed Arthur in first. The sound of loud Americans, Germans and Britons filled the whole interior, and Arthur seemed surprised.

He raised his voice over the chatter. "This doesn't seem very safe! Are you sure the roof and the walls are strong enough to withstand explosions and gunshots?"

"Of course! You ain't gotta worry, Arthur. There's a good strong design plan behind this place. Remember those shelters in the second war? Just like that, but bigger and a whole lot stronger."

I nudged Arthur and motioned for him to follow me to the left side of the warehouse. There were makeshift beds lined along the entire wall, which was at least a hundred yards across. I led the Brit right to the end of the beds and pointed to the two closest to the wall.

"You wanna sleep by the wall or me?"

"We'd be sleeping beside each other?" Arthur asked, immediately dropping his gaze with me.

"Well, yeah. 'Cos if something happens in the night, like raiders or whatever, who you gonna run to when you don't know what to do?"

"I'm not helpless!" he snapped.

"Okay, what do you do when Korean raiders start shouting and kicking the door down?"

Arthur slowly uncrossed his arms.

I smiled. "By the wall?"

"By the wall."

... ... ...

JANUARY 5th, 2017, SOUTH FLORIDA

"Rise and shine, Artie," I said lowly. "C'mon, get up."

Arthur pulled the thin blanket over his face, grumbled something unintelligible and sat up.

"I've told you to not call me 'Artie', have I not?" he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Stupid concrete floor, my back is killing me."

"Sure, 'course it's the floor, old man."

"I'm not old, you cheeky git!"

I grinned.

"At least four years older than you, at the most," a scowl passed his face. "I'll knock some manners into you before the day ends."

"Whatever you say, Arthur. Get up and get dressed in your new clothes."

"New clothes?" he repeated.

I pointed to a neatly folded pair of denim overalls and a sturdy pair of boots that were longer than Arthur's own boots. He looked between me, then the clothes, then back at me with an odd expression.

"Overalls?"

I nodded.

"Are you serious?"

Again, I nodded.

Arthur couldn't help but let out a small snort. "What, are we farming?"

"Yep!"

The Brit stared at me for a moment or two, leaving me to grin expectantly at him. He finally reached for the overalls and the boots and shooed me away.

"Right, how silly of me."

... ... ...

"Oh, we really are farming?"

"Well duh, I did say we were. You wanna eat later, don't you?" I said like it was the most obvious thing ever.

Arthur grumbled under his breath. "How are we farming during World War Three? Surely we're risking dying? You even said yourself yesterday that we were heading West and that missiles were aimed nearby."

I smiled. "You're so gullible. We aren't farming, Artie, we're literally going to the stalls and buying some food. Don't ask about the overalls though, that's just what we have to wear."

"Oh damn, and I told myself to look forward to slaving around in a plantation all day, proceeding to die brutally when the missiles hit."

"Great, huh? Come on then, we need to hurry there and hurry back. We're packing everything up and leaving in an hour."

I nudged Arthur out of the warehouse and guided him down the winding roads. He continued muttering and scowling under his breath about the 'boiling weather' and the 'idiot kids who kept annoying him every damn five seconds'.

When we reached the first stall, we were greeted by an elderly woman with a bright grin, ecstatic to see me and the new evacuee. Arthur glared at the floor when he was called an evacuee, and I laughed as I bought a bunch of fruits and vegetables. We began walking away and Arthur looked into the bag.

"A lot of these are a bit battered, aren't they?"

"We are in a war, Artie. We have to live on the food we can get. We have bruised fruits and that kinda stuff every day, and we're lucky if we get canned stuff. It's a miracle if we get something like chocolate." I explained, waving to a few stall merchants.

"Fair point, I take it back," Arthur said. "What else is there to buy?"

"Anything we can get our hands on. Us 'guides' back at the warehouse hate sharing. It's a shame, cos shopping around turns into a competition a lot. Like first come, first serve. We literally get what we get our hands on first. So if you see something you want, go racing for it."

Arthur looked surprised, and I laughed as he frowned.

"That's a bit harsh. But I suppose you'd say you were used to it as always." he said as he looked around.

"Sure thing. If it's alright, I'm gonna see if I can get some canned goods. Remember, you see something, you sprint for it."

I winked and left him to go on my search for awesome food.

... ... ...

ARTHUR'S POV

I watched Alfred walk away, losing sight after a few seconds as other Americans rushed around to get their hands on decent food. With a loud exhale, I forced myself to walk around, albeit aimlessly. Nothing really caught my eye in the stalls.

Nothing caught my eye until they fell upon a small box of Earl Grey tea, and a smile spread across my face. I remembered what Alfred said, but I saw nobody else who seemed to be looking at it, and so I made my way to the stall at a leisurely pace.

Until I saw someone else reaching for it, at which point I bolted right up to the stall and snatched it up before the other could pick it up himself. I glanced at the other person and a cheerful smile, dazzling azure eyes and a slightly stubbled face greeted me.

"Bonjour, beau." he greeted, fluttering his lashes.

No doubt surrounded this man. A thick accent, speaking in part foreign language, flirting of all things, and clearly renowned for his classier choices in fashion. He was awfully, terribly, undeniably French.

Place a garlic lei about his neck and give him a striped shirt and it would be perfect.

"I would have taken this, but mon dieu, I could not let such a beauty like you go without what you desire."

I blinked, grip tightening around the box in my hand. The Frenchman placed a hand on his hip delicately and continued smiling at me.

"Must you speak as if you were in a romance novel?"

He laughed. A horrible, obnoxious French laugh.

"Ah, little Shakespeare, you speak so extravagantly yourself," he purred. "What is your name, ma chérie?"

"Does it matter?" I asked as I paid for the tea.

"I am offended!" he exclaimed melodramatically. "I only ask for your name, my sweetheart."

"I am not yours and I am not a sweetheart. Kindly go about your business. Bloody frog."

Without letting him reply, I turned to leave, but instead I bumped straight into Alfred. Shocked, I jumped back, about to apologise, as well as lecture him about looking where he was going, before he called out.

"Francis! Long time, no see buddy!"

A/N: Woo, second chappie done and dusted! A friendly note that this is the first time I've done a serious writing thing and done so in first person, so it will inevitably end up awful.

Also, it will occasionally swap between Al and Art, just because it revolves around both of em and I don't wanna leave one out!

Also also, there will be a few other pairings in this. You can expect mainly PruAus and Franada to be side pairings. Hints of Franada will pop up next chapter~!

Translations for y'all non-Frenchies (I used Google Translate, sorry if I butchered it):

Bonjour, beau - Hello, handsome

Mon dieu - My god

Ma chérie - My darling

In case your suspicious, no FrUK in this! What, Francis can't flirt with everyone all the time? Pfft.

Much love! 3


	3. Chapter 3

JANUARY 5th, 2017, SOUTH FLORIDA

ALFRED'S POV

"Francis! Long time, no see buddy!" I called. Then I realised I had walked into Arthur. "Oh, sorry Art. Didn't see you there."

"Monsieur l'Amérique! It has been so long, my dear Alfred!" Francis grinned widely.

Arthur looked between us with a comically confused face. "You know each other?"

"Sure do! Francis here's my good friend, I've known him about three years. I met him when he started dating my brother."

"Dating your brother? I didn't know you even had a brother."

I shrugged. "I didn't know you liked tea."

Arthur looked at the box in his hands and huffed. "Well, do you expect anything less from a British man? Who is this self-proclaimed Casanova?"

Francis cocked an eyebrow, smiling nevertheless. I told Arthur I'd explain everything back at the warehouse and he just muttered at me.

... ... ...

"...and after the war began I thought I might as well remain here. It is safer after all, non?"

I nodded absently. I had already pretty much guessed why Francis hadn't returned back to Paris three years ago. Arthur, however, was just staring off into the distance.

Francis had talked all the way back to the warehouse. He'd talked all the way through gathering things up and he'd only just finished talking just after we left the warehouse for good. I had let him babble, but I don't think Arthur even listened. Since we left the stalls he just kept this weird expression, like he was processing his surroundings and he couldn't actually believe where he was.

Just when I thought he'd lost his voice permanently, he looked at me.

"So, your brother? Francis is dating him right?"

I glanced at the other people travelling with us. There was about sixty-odd of us together. I slowed my pace so that all three of us were at the back of the group and secured the strap of my rucksack on my shoulder.

"Yep, that'd be Mattie," I nodded. "Francis met him about two months before the war started and he hasn't seen him in half a year or so. For all we know, he's still in Canada."

"You don't seem to care much." Arthur noted.

"Honestly, I do. It's just we've never been super close. He's actually my half brother. Y'know, my mom was American and so was my dad, but his dad was Canadian. We used to text each other, but that stopped when the war was announced, as you do."

I noticed that Arthur was slacking, and offered him a friendly smile.

"Need some help?"

He scowled and paced a few steps ahead of me and Francis, dragging his bag behind him. "No, I can carry a bag fine by myself, thank you."

Francis beamed at Arthur's back. "Notre ami is quite stubborn, hm?"

"Yeah, and cranky." I grinned.

"I can hear you!"

We continued walking for a half hour, after Francis confirmed he was definitely tagging along with us. My bag felt heavier, but that was the sun taking its toll on all of our bodies. It was Florida, after all. We had all been quiet, save for Arthur's occasional complaints of the heat, and we listened to other people's conversations, but nothing interesting came about. Sick of the silence, I turned to Arthur.

"Hey Artie, do you have brothers? Or sisters?"

He took a while to answer, straightening the bag on his bag twice. "Yes, I'm one of four."

"Four? That's a lot of brothers! Are they full brothers or half like me and Mattie?"

"They are all my foster brothers, if you must know. My mother couldn't carry children so she adopted."

"Are you the youngest? Are you all English? Where are they? Do you get along with them?"

Arthur heaved a sigh. "Yes, no, I don't know, sometimes."

Francis piped up. "You are not all English?"

"No. They are Scottish, Irish and Welsh. We are all technically British, if you want a lesson on nationality."

"So you don't know where they are?" I asked.

Arthur seemed to falter at that, and he blinked in a second-long daze. Then he flicked his hair out of his eyes and glared.

"Can we not talk about this?"

"Oh, sorry." I mumbled.

Mood killed, we trudged on and on through old streets and I felt Arthur's never-ending glares on me and Francis probably felt it too.

... ... ...

ARTHUR'S POV

When we finally reached our new camp that wasn't all that far from our last, I realised I had been engrossed in my thoughts since Alfred had fallen silent.

In all honesty, I didn't know where my brothers were. The last I had seen of them was long before I got on the ship to America. They could be dead for all I know. It was not a pleasant thought, but I knew for a fact they had stayed in England, which was no longer a safe option. I felt sick at that. I had never gotten along with my brothers, especially Allistor.

It was true that the Scots love to get drunk. He often came home reeking of whiskey and rum and carried with him a foul mouth, as well as a stubborn streak. He was annoying as hell, but at the end of the day he was a decent man. He had a well-paid job and a good wife, and he did love us all, even if he didn't show it.

Colin and Dylan were rarely at the house back in Europe. I knew for a fact they had graduated, but a week after that, they were practically invisible.

Now that I thought about it, my brothers had literally vanished before I left for America. Perchance they'd gone into hiding? That was around the time that rumours of the war were spreading like wildfire, so maybe they'd seen sense and gone off to protect themselves. Looking back, I wished I had told them to come with me, and maybe I'd be able to actually talk with them and look out for them. I may be the youngest, but I was the most responsible.

There wasn't much I did with my 'old life', as I now gladly named it. In England, I had not found myself a job, even after I finished university. Life just seemed to halt before the war began. Maybe it was for the best.

The first two years of the war that I lived in England for, I had went from place to place, using any buses or trains that for some reason still worked as if nothing had happened. I had quite a few near-death experiences and my health seemed to have its own breakdowns.

People had left for America by their own doing, and it soon caught on that it was the safest place to go. A few months after, the military had sent out ships and planes and helicopters to transfer citizens.

Considering how orderly everything appears to be in America, the government and the military were pretty useless at the start. It was no wonder I had almost died more times than I would have liked.

I realised that when I was boarding the ship to leave my home for good, I hadn't given my family a spare thought. My stomach twisted at the idea of me being so selfish. So much so that I was glad when I was called out of my musings.

"Yo Artie, we're here! You still with us?" Alfred waved a hand in front of my face.

I swatted him off and scowled. "Stop being a nuisance like that."

Even Francis looked amused with my absence throughout the journey. "Do not worry, mon ami, now that we're here you can drop off that heavy thing and rest yourself."

"Please refrain from talking to me as if you were my mother, Frog." I warned, and headed off on my own.

Our new place of shelter seemed much more safe and orderly. I almost smiled in delight when I noticed that this place was secured by none other than armed guards and a small force of army men off to the side. Alfred came up to me and pushed me forward, inside the fences of the camp.

Alfred whistled. "Looks a lot like the war camps in the movies, huh?"

"Maybe because it is a war camp." I rolled my eyes.

"Even got some army dudes," Alfred grinned, surveying the camp. "This is so cool, it's like a fortress!"

"Maybe because it is a fortress," I sighed. "Alfred, this is serious. Stop acting like a child."

"They're acting like children." the American pointed to a group of ten year olds racing around and shouting to each other. He stopped me as I opened my mouth. "I know, it's 'cos they are children. But you gotta admit, this place is awesome. See, we even got a little hospital! We didn't have that in the warehouse. Cheer up, Artie."

"Arthur." I said almost robotically.

He restarted. "Cheer up, Arthur. Come on, I'll help you unpack your stuff. We'll be sharing one of the cabins, 'cos I don't want you to be murdered in the night."

"Charming mental image. But I can unpack myself. Also, why do you think you will be able to prevent me from being murdered at moonrise?"

"Because I'm a hero, and heroes don't let people get harmed."

"Yes, whatever you say. Just show me to our cabin and let me unpack in peace."

... ... ...

ALFRED'S POV

I finished helping Arthur unpack. He had adopted a stoic expression onto his face and sat on the bottom bunk of the bed with his back against the wall, arms crossed. He looked like he was thinking.

"Arthur?"

His gaze snapped from the concrete ground up to me. The intensity of the green in his eyes almost startled me.

"What?"

"How come you didn't wanna talk about your brothers earlier?"

Arthur looked out of the small window that was located in the corner of the tiny cabin. The sky was dark, almost a black. It must have been around eleven. Then Arthur closed his eyes and seemed to tense up even more.

"I just didn't want to. I don't know where they are, and I haven't known long before I arrived here."

"Were you and your family ever close?"

Arthur took a moment to reply with, "No."

He had opened his eyes and was staring hard at the floor again. I couldn't help but watch him carefully, searching for any change in his mood or sudden fault.

Arthur had changed out of the overalls back at the warehouse with the rest of us, into a thick sweater and black pants that seemed a bit too big around his ankles. The bulkiness of the clothes made him look smaller than he was, and with his gaze fixed on the floor with a subtle pout that was actually more of a frown, he looked almost childlike.

His hair was messier and his pale skin looked slightly flushed from the humidity.

Then he looked back at me and I smiled a bit.

"Reminiscing?" I offered.

"I'm quite partial to that, yes," he admitted. "I'm also wondering why you aren't close with your brother too."

"Well, we used to be really close when we were kids. But that was then, right? I don't know, we just kind of drifted apart." I gestured around slowly as I fumbled for words. "Mattie's a good guy, but he's quiet. You never know he's there."

"What makes him so special to Francis?" Arthur asked, notably frowning as 'Francis' passed his lips.

"No idea. What makes anyone special to anyone? Looks, personality, who knows with Francis. He probably likes Matt's butt or something weird."

I laughed as I said that, and a small smile ghosted over Arthur's mouth.

"He is French after all."

"In all seriousness though, I really have no idea. Like, one day Mattie just said to me, hey so I'm seeing this French guy now, you should meet him. And basically, we were friends, I guess, from then. Francis has got two other guys he hangs out with too. Gilbert and Antonio. Gilbert is somewhere in Cali I think, with his brother. Antonio is still in Spain, according to Francis."

"Speak of the devil." Arthur mumbled.

"Bonsoir, les amis!" Francis sauntered in through the partially open to door and smiled. "What are we gossiping about?"

"You." Arthur scowled. "What do you want, Frog?"

"Mon cher, you wound me. If you kiss this handsome Frog, he should turn into a doubly handsome prince!"

"Piss off."

Francis laughed and handed me a small box. "I thought you'd like some food. We can't have you two lovebirds chatting the night and day away and going hungry, can we?"

"If that's all, you can go now." Arthur muttered.

I grinned through Arthur's comment. "Thanks, Franny!"

"Oui, bonne nuit, chéris!"

Francis waved almost regally and vanished, bringing the door closed after him with a soft click. I sat on the edge of the bottom bunk a little away from Arthur and opened the box. He looked over and made a sound of approval.

"Thank God, I'm starving." he admitted, edging closer with eagerness.

I smiled. "Don't forget you got the stuff we bought at the stalls this morning. You didn't get just tea, did you?"

"Of course not. I managed to get an apple or two and some canned soup. Seems like a buffet compared to that."

Arthur frowned when I offered him the contents of the box; several loafs of bread and a small bowlful of what tasted like a much too spicy soup. He rummaged through one of his smaller bags and took out his own soup and the apple. He shook the can in my direction.

"That's obviously not to your taste. If you like, we can share this one and halve the apple."

"Cold soup?" I questioned, taking the can anyway.

"You were the one who said to eat what we get." Arthur said testily. "Do hurry, I'm quite famished."

"Alright, don't get your knickers in a twist." I said in a bad British accent that sounded more Australian.

I opened the can and swapped the soups, placing the bowl between us on the hard surface of the bed.

We ate in comfortable silence, occasionally muttering under our breaths at the cold soup, but we finished and Arthur was halving the apple. He gave me the larger half and I ate it in record time, savouring the bittersweet flavour.

Arthur finished soon after, and had began to clear away the bowl and the box.

"First class dinner." I said, moving to sit on the floor.

"Mhmm." Arthur hummed in agreement, busying himself with messing with his bunk until he was happy. He turned to me. "Do you know what will be happening tomorrow?"

I pushed my glasses up my nose. "Well, we'll be practising general survival skills."

"Survival skills?"

"Yep. Just you and me. I asked one of the guards if he'll let us go to the shooting gallery." I beamed at him.

Arthur looked dumbfounded. "And why would we possibly want to do that?"

"Because after we practise your aim, we get to explore around. Everyone, not just us. Some other 'war buddies' are practising stuff like archery and climbing. Y'know, just in case we get into trouble."

"This sounds a lot like a residential trip I had once in primary school." Arthur said, half to himself. "Though if you insist, I must say I prefer archery to rifles and what have you."

"Didn't have you pinned as a bow and arrow kinda guy." I grinned. "But okay, whatever floats your boat."

I left Arthur's bunk and climbed to my own. Both of us remained in silence for a moment or two. I heard and felt Arthur shuffling around below in vain attempts to find comfort. I closed my eyes.

"You're a cool guy, Artie." I mumbled.

"Yes, I always considered myself one of the cool kids." he retorted drily. "Good night, Alfred."

"We'll have an awesome day tomorrow."

"Yes. Good night."

"With bows 'n arrows and stuff."

"Good night, Alfred."

A/N: ugh long time updating argghhh I'm sorry.

Sooo this time we have some backstory for Artie. That's always cool n stuff. And we got some depth on lil Mattie n Franny.

Google Translate is your friend guys, go use it.

Reviews are always welcome. Critique me and my awful skillz pls

Much love! 3


	4. Chapter 4

JANUARY 5th, 2017, SOUTH FLORIDA

ALFRED'S POV

I awoke to the sound of Arthur closing the door. I rolled over to my side and propped myself up, looking towards him. He looked tired and not too happy.

"Morning." he greeted.

"Artie, you don't look too good. You okay?"

"Fine, just that I didn't get as much sleep as I would have liked. You should hurry and get out of bed if we're going out to practice my aim."

I nodded and jumped off the side of the bed, wandering to the corner to find my boots and lace them up. Arthur himself had already dressed up in a bulky trench coat. He had a bright red scarf tucked into the hem.

"Do you really need the scarf and stuff?" I asked.

"For Florida, today is a surprisingly bad day. I've overheard the guards outside saying it's going to be really quite cold."

"Jeez, perfect weather for the war. Alright, go wait outside. I'll be out in just a sec."

Arthur wordlessly left, leaving the door open behind him. I threw on my trusty bomber jacket and quickly followed, shutting the door behind me. I found Arthur milling around by the entrance, looking up at the barbed wire at the top of the fence.

"You ready?" I asked.

"Yes. Where will we be going?"

"There's a lake just a while behind the camp. There's a little gallery nearby with archery targets on the wall outside so you can practice."

A stoic-faced guard opened the gates for us and we began to head out, and just as they shut behind us, Arthur started to look hesitant.

"Is it safe to be out here?" he asked.

"If it wasn't, you think they'd let us out?" I countered. "I promise, it's absolutely fine. I'll protect you!"

Arthur scowled. "I'm twenty-three years of age, therefore I think I can look after myself."

"You don't look a day over eighteen." I smirked, turning and leading the way.

I heard Arthur exclaiming over my comment, but following nevertheless.

The walk towards the little lake was quick, but we took our time. At the front of the camp it was grey and dull, bordered by half-broken buildings and abandoned attractions, but behind it was coloured with exotic reds, yellows, browns and greens. A comparison of then and now, as if this place was the only sanctuary remaining.

Tall trees surrounded the narrow dust path that we walked, leaves spiralling around gracefully. I would stay here forever if I could, and I'd make Arthur stay with me.

For the sake of company being company? Maybe. The wall Arthur put up around himself was beginning to erode away. Perhaps I was jumping to conclusions, but this was the start of a friendship.

Okay, so I'd known the guy for about two days, and he didn't tell me much about himself. That being said, I felt that if I could dodge Arthur's insults and complaints, then maybe I'd find a lovable person underneath who would be a loyal friend. I made a note to coax out some information about him while we practised.

It probably wouldn't be easy, but a hero doesn't give up.

... ... ...

ARTHUR'S POV

I gathered that Alfred enjoyed taking his time with his walks, especially when a variegated scenery was provided. I often forgot how much I treasured landscapes like the one we were trekking through, landscapes that I thought only existed in fairytales.

I also took my time, falling a few paces behind Alfred to find myself lost in this beautiful forest-like world.

If I closed my eyes, I could hear more clearly the sharp breeze that brought with it sharp chills, responsible for the opposite of ordinary Florida weather. I loved the crackling sound of crisp leaves under my boots, and the distinct scent of a woodland territory - musk and bark, a faint hint of smoke, all coming together to create a wonderfully earthy smell that I discovered I actually quite liked.

Then, I open my eyes and see the rich summer colours, contradicting the winter-like chill. Amber and bronze leaves plummeted down in small typhoons, dancing haphazardly on the breeze. Despite the notable coldness, the sun nevertheless shone brightly, casting golden rays between the trees and patterning the ground with pools or orange and yellow.

Perhaps if we were not in the midst of a war, there would be many other places like this, and better.

The picturesque forest seemed so much like the forests in old English fables and legends, and suddenly I find myself thinking of England. My old home - is it still standing? The army - are they winning or losing, alongside American and German soldiers? Everything I once knew - would I ever know it again?

I missed what it was like before the war, almost forgot, but I could always keep a grip on an inkling of the memories and experiences.

I sucked in a breath, looking straight ahead at Alfred, putting a stop to my thoughts. If I continued reminiscing, I would do myself no good and end up throwing myself into depression if the war did not manage first.

So I focused on Alfred.

Alfred was strange one, to say the least. Having known him for two days, I couldn't really pin a definite persona about him. I had learned that his elevator did not go to the top floor at the best of times. It was not a default trait, but he had resorted to being awkward in any given situation as I had seen once or twice. He was very patriotic. He had some sort of obsession with heroes, and I often wondered if he was the type of person who hid his nerdy side under a charming and energetic mask.

As for his appearance, he simply screamed 'American', complete with sun-kissed skin and that perfect shade of blonde hair that nobody else could positively capture naturally.

My favourite feature of any person I know is always their eyes.

Alfred's eyes were quite captivating. I haven't had one good chance to properly look as of yet, but I know for a fact that the shade of blue in his eyes is a shade I have never seen before. I can't use a word to describe the colour. Turquoise, cyan, teal, royal, none seem to fit accurately. At times, I glimpse bits of sky blue, as if the colours between clouds had been gathered together just for his eyes. Other moments, I see patterns of deep blue, like the waves of the ocean had been captured, just for his eyes.

But any other time he looks straight back at me, I see blue fire. Cerulean and sapphire flames ignite his irises and captivate me. After our gazes break, I feel as if I have been burned in some way. I tell myself his look is only slightly intimidating in some ridiculous way, and then I back out of my pathetic assumptions and tell myself I was caught off guard.

And yet, through the non-existent burns, Alfred's eyes do not fail to entice me back to glance and attempt to name the beautiful colour.

As I reassess my reactions to Alfred's features, I realise that I tend to observe a lot more than others. Perhaps if I was an artist, I'd attempt to capture human beauty and transfer it to paper. If I was a writer, I'd spend hours searching for the perfect words. If I was a photographer, I'd only take pictures of everyday people in their everyday worlds, catching the essence of people's nature and their often misleading looks.

"We're here, Artie."

Then I realise I have not observed Alfred as much as observe a general person. I swallow and continue looking off into the distance. Am I afraid of what Alfred would say? How he would react? What he would think if I attempted to delve into his mysterious personality and give him more than a once-over? He is ultimately fascinating, my brain settles on this thought.

"Earth to Arthur. Hello?"

I make a note that I forget who Alfred is when I look at him at the camp. I often feel as if I'm looking at a character of someone's design rather than a bona fide person who is guiding me around in the middle of war. It's almost a sad thought.

"Arthur!"

"What?" I asked, startled from my thoughts.

"Jeez, you looked a little hypnotized there for a sec. Was worried you'd drifted away into another world or somethin' freaky." Alfred said, laughing a little nervously. "You're okay, yeah?"

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine," I dismissed, turning my attention fully to the little building beside us. "Here?"

Alfred nodded, and disappeared within for a moment. I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to remember not to drown in my musings whenever I was in company.

Where was I even attempting to go with that thought process? I was generally a quiet person who preferred to keep to my silence and observe the people who were more out-there than myself, I had gathered that much. I suddenly wondered if Alfred was so contemplative about me. He always looked wrapped up in talking about the most random of things, so I quashed that thought instantly as Alfred himself came back with a large bow and some arrows.

"Is that a recurve bow?" I took it as it was handed to me.

"Uh..."

"It's a lot like a longbow, but not as large. These curves at the end are too pronounced for it to be a compound. Hand me the arrows, please."

Alfred looked dumbfounded as I pulled back the string to test its durability. I was almost surprised by the strength of the bow, as it looked as ordinary as ever. I snapped my fingers, hurrying Alfred to pass me an arrow.

"You sure know a lot about this." he noted, watching me position the head of the arrow carefully against the string.

I gripped the string in a professional way, elbow up and positioned it at eye-level, and I pulled back as far as it would go. I turned slightly, aiming at one of the targets that was sturdily hung upon the wall. Alfred was silent behind me.

I let go and the distinct sound of the arrow piercing the wind met our ears, and it landed not a centimetre or two away from the middle. Satisfied with my first shot since at least fifteen years ago, I lowered the bow and glanced at Alfred.

He had a slightly hesitant smile. "Beginner's luck, huh?"

"You wish. I used to take archery lessons when I was eight."

"Eight? Dude, I was still spinning in circles to pass the time when I was eight. What, did you read all of Shakespeare's novels by then too?"

I gave Alfred a serious look, and his face turned from shock to awe.

"Artie, you're a child prodigy!" Alfred gawked, running to the target to prise the arrow out. "You're awesome, y'know - wow. That's like-"

"Alfred, calm down. I only shot an arrow."

Despite my words, I felt happy that Alfred thought of me in such a way. He took the bow off of me and attempted himself. Just as he was about to pull the string back, I tapped his arm.

"Elbow up."

He followed my instructions and after some tweaking of his position and aim, he fired the arrow. It landed on the inner blue ring of the target.

"Is that good for a first shot?" he asked.

"Considering you didn't end up shooting yourself in the foot or into the lake, yes, that was a surprisingly good first go." I nodded, retrieving the arrow.

"So, you took archery lessons?"

I pulled back the string and aimed at a target further away. "Yes, when I was eight. Because I always stayed at home with my nose in a book," I fired. "My mother always told me to get into some kind of sport. Then again, I hate strenuous physical activities, so I asked for archery lessons. I had to deal with my brothers claiming it wasn't a sport, just a hobby for lazy, stuck-up people."

The arrow had landed on the outside of the yellow centre. I went there again to take it back.

"Yet they were pretty supportive, proving money for extra lessons," I went on. "I'm not sure I thanked them for it. Nevertheless, I finished my lessons and even got into small competitions when I was ten."

"You won, of course."

"Second place, actually," I corrected, nodding my thanks to his assumption that I was the best anyway with a small smile. "And after the competitions, I kind of abandoned it altogether. I promised my mother I'd try something, not that I'd stick to it, after all. But it looks as if I still remember what I was taught."

"Well, duh. It's like ridin' a bicycle, you don't just forget how to do it." Alfred muttered. "You're still really good at it. I don't know why we're bothering to practice."

"You tell me. I get the idea that you are better with handling guns?"

Alfred's face lit up, and he grabbed my wrist. "Heck yeah! C'mon, there's a shooting range inside."

... ... ...

A/N: is this chap longer or shorter? Ugh words

I hope the bit about recurve and compound bows made sense. Google didn't help much XD

Nevertheless, we got some assessin' going on here. I hope its cool that I write more in Arthur's pov. I like being descriptive like that. He strikes me as a person that carefully observes the littlest things.

Yeah.

Reviews welcome~ thanks for faves and follows guys!

Much love! 3


	5. Chapter 5

JANUARY 5th, 2017, SOUTH FLORIDA

ALFRED'S POV

"And this is a Colt M1911, one of the most successful models of the 20th century, and my personal favourite. And, oh! This one's a Springfield Model 1817, and this here is a Beretta M92F, or just a Beretta M9. Hmm, oh - that one's an FN M1903, used in both of the World Wars. Seems right to use it now, huh?"

"Um-"

"There's also a lot of shotguns just behind you, there. That one there is an Ithaca M37, really easy to handle. My favourite is this one, the Browning Auto-5. This was the most popular and successful rifle, serving in both World Wars, the Korean War and it saw the end of its fighting days after the Vietnam War. This is the original model, not the revised one that came out a couple years ago."

"Alfred, I-"

"You wanna try your hand at shootin' with 'em?" I offered.

Arthur looked a bit blank. He said yesterday he didn't know a lot about guns. More like he'd only ever heard of the category 'handgun' and 'shotgun'. I didn't know a lot about archery, but I knew how the basics worked. Arthur didn't seem to know anything at all about guns. I was almost offended when he told me.

Still, he nodded slowly and I led him to the shooting range, offering him a pair of red plastic goggles. I put mine on over my glasses and waited for Arthur to stop fussing with the straps before I showed him the Colt.

"You know how to hold one, right?" I asked.

Arthur sniffed. "That much. Give-"

"Ah-ah, don't want you shootin' yourself in the face, do we? You gotta pay attention. I said I'd help you practice and that's what I'm gonna do. You watch me first, 'kay?"

I took Arthur's silence and edgy glare as a yes, and I held the Colt in both hands.

"Wait, shouldn't we be wearing the earmuffs?"

"You hear missile explosions every day and a bullet won't do much to you." I dismissed.

Arthur watched as I held the gun steady and aimed at a silhouetted target several feet away from the firing point. I fired, and Arthur notably jumped, obviously not expecting me to get to it so fast. The bullet had hit really close to the centre of the target. I shot Arthur a smile.

"You wanna go?" I offered again.

He swallowed. "Uh, yes. Give me it."

I handed it to him, and he held it with an awfully tender grip. He really didn't know anything. Smiling despite his lack of knowledge, I stood behind him and positioned my arms alongside his.

"What are you-"

"Tighten you grip, Artie. This thing fires when your holding it so lightly and your gonna drop it," I started, moving his hands accordingly. "Your fingers need to go around the whole thing- tighter, that's it. And bring it up to eye level-"

"Alfred, I can't do this, I never have."

"You can, now put your other hand under like this. Finger on the trigger, gently. 'Kay, now you just gotta aim."

I nudged the side of his boot, and he shifted to a more stable position as I helped him aim towards the target.

"And shoot."

Arthur pulled the trigger, and the force of the gun lifting with the shot sent a jolt through his body, sending him an inch closer back into me. He still held the gun as tightly as I made him, and his eyes had narrowed from the sound of the shot.

"Like that?" he asked, turning his head a bit to glance at me.

I almost had my chin on his shoulder from assisting him with his aim, and I smiled widely when he looked at me.

"Like that. See? It's not that hard."

"Get off."

Not surprised at the snappiness back in his tone, I backed off, only realising the proximity previously between us.

Arthur lowered the gun to look at it closely and I started to walk around aimlessly, looking at the other guns around the shooting range.

"Have you always been interested in guns?"

I looked at Arthur. He had removed his goggles and was spinning the gun around his finger.

"Sure, for a while at least. But it was kind of forced on everyone to know the basics at the start of the war. Guess I just kept learnin' about 'em. Why?"

"No reason. Do you want to continue practising, or...?" he trailed off, setting the gun down on a nearby table.

"Or?"

"Or go back?"

"I was thinkin' it'd be nice to hang around by the lake outside for a while. You wanna?"

Arthur looked as if he was going to refuse for a second before he nodded and pushed past me to get outside. I followed suit, not forgetting to take off my goggles.

... ... ...

ARTHUR'S POV

My body still tingled from when Alfred had stood behind me to tweak my poor aiming abilities. He had been so close that I could feel his breath flutter past my neck, his hair brush my cheeks. Luckily I hadn't shown any weakness. I wasn't used to anyone being so close to me. I had rules about personal space, but Alfred seemed to push into the personal space. Without me minding, I realised.

I was at the edge of the lake first. I found a comfortable looking patch of short grass before a thick oak tree, and sat there with my back against the bark. I watched Alfred sit as close to the lake as he could. He took off his boots and socks and dangled his feet in the water.

A ray of sunlight shone down on my shoulder, and I shifted slightly to sit in the warmth, closing my eyes and reclining comfortably.

"Hey, Artie?" Alfred asked after a minute of restful silence.

"Mm?"

"Do you play any instruments?"

Eyes still closed, I nodded. "Yes. Or rather, I used to, before the war."

"What, piano or somethin' fancy?"

"Guitar, actually."

Alfred snorted. "You don't seem like a guitar kinda guy."

"And you don't seem like a gun kind of guy," I countered. "But why do you ask?"

"Wanna get to know you better." he explained. "Why guitar?"

"I enjoyed rock and roll, punk rock, any rock, I suppose. So that inspired me to learn. I began piano lessons but quit soon after. Do you play anything?"

Alfred gave me a megawatt smile. "Elementary forced us all to learn a Celine Dion song on the clarinet, but that's it. I'd rather listen to music than learn about it."

"Then what hobbies do you have?"

"I like looking into complicated stuff. Like space and science-y things."

I smirked. "Science-y things? Impress me."

"Well I'm not gonna recite the periodic table for you, but I know a lot of constellations. Always loved stargazing. If you like, we can sneak out later and I'll show you some of 'em!" he said excitedly.

"Mm. And what other things are you into?"

"Sports." he answered simply.

I frowned slightly. "Of all other things, you'd rather run around a muddy field and kick a ball around?"

"Well, yeah. Keeps me in shape, and to soccer-"

"Football."

"And to soccer's defense," he carried on. "Kicking balls around is quite fun."

I was caught by surprise at that and I laughed at his choice of words. He grinned back and seemed satisfied with his excuse.

"Yes, lad. Whatever you say." I rolled my eyes. "And it most certainly is football, not soccer."

"Nuh-uh. Football is way different from soccer in the states."

"Football and soccer are the same thing." I argued.

"Is not."

"Don't make me use a 'wake up America' joke, it is definitely football."

"Nope."

A few moments of silence passed, Alfred grinning non-stop.

"I'm also into video games."

Of course he was. Seeing my internal debate of whether he was a nerd die down, I raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"Why?"

"That's like asking you why you don't like sports. Born with it, I don't know. I used to have every console at my old house. I remember playing once with Mattie and Francis, and he had his German and Spanish friends online too."

"Call of Duty?"

"Way overrated, dude. We played every game we could get our hands on. But good guess, for someone who only looks into Shakespeare in his spare time." he gave me a cheeky smile, and I scowled at him.

"I have other hobbies, thank you very much."

"Don't tell me, croquet and tea time?"

"You cheeky little-"

"Nah, I got you pinned as a lit-guy, right?"

I glared at him for a moment. "If you must know, my interests include embroidery, craftsmanship, literature, rock music and giving scathing criticisms to little judgemental brats like you.

"Oh Arthur, you wound me so."

"Good," I muttered. "Please save your assumptions next time."

"C'mon Artie, y'know you're still my buddy. I wouldn't bully you ever."

"And refrain from calling me your 'buddy'."

"Can I call you amigo?"

"No."

"How about ami?"

"Definitely not."

"Prieten?"

"How many languages are you going to try?"

"Venn?"

"Stop."

"Oh! Can I call you ffrind?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"No."

Alfred feigned a pout and I gave him a self-satisfied smile, to which he stuck his tongue out childishly.

"Oh, don't be such a baby."

... ... ...

ALFRED'S POV

Some time had passed since we sat by the lake. Arthur had resorted to taking a stick from the ground and tracing patterns in the mud, while I had lain on my back and tried to count the leaves on the trees above me.

The sky had darkened slightly, pinks and oranges merging in the midday sun, and I cleared my throat. Arthur looked up, dropping the stick.

"We should get back."

Arthur wordlessly got to his feet and dusted off his coat, waiting for me as I pulled my boots back on. As soon as I did that, I began to lead the way back to the camp.

I felt Arthur's gaze on my back. I glanced at him.

"What?" he asked casually.

"You lookin' at the jacket, right?" I guessed, shimmying the unzipped sides around. "Cool, ain't it? I've had this since I was a little kid when it was way too big."

"I suppose the 50 is for the fifty states?"

"Mhmm. No need for stars and stripes to be patriotic."

"Patriotic my arse, it's just a number in any other circumstance." Arthur muttered, speeding up to walk alongside me.

I flashed him a Hollywood-perfect smile. "Depends how you look at it. Like the number three, right? That's just a number, but it also symbolises trinity or something in the Bible."

"You are so ignorant it pains me," Arthur said flatly.

"Or six-hundred-and-sixty-six, for the devil! Now that's a cool number!"

"You're concerning me now."

I shrugged, looking at him over my glasses. "I'm not a Satanist or somethin', don't throw a fit."

"Mm." was all he said.

We fell into another comfortable silence after Arthur fell in step with me.

I wondered what had happened back at the camp, if Francis had gotten up to anything interesting. Then again, what Francis considered interesting I considered freaky. So I forced my thoughts elsewhere.

I contemplated if Arthur had enjoyed today. Okay, so it wasn't a fun outing, but I'd rather he find it decent than boring and wanting to punch me in the face.

I thought back to how I helped him aim earlier, how close I was to him. Re-imagining it sent a shiver down my spine. Not sure of what I should be thinking, I cleared my mind of that and glanced at Arthur.

His pale skin had been coloured with a faint pink from his exposure to the sun. I figured English weather was nothing like this, so I wasn't surprised.

Then I decided that I didn't want our journey back to be complete silence, so I grinned and tapped his shoulder.

"What now?"

"Can I call you my bestest friend in the whole wide world?"

"Oh for goodness sake..."

... ... ...

A/N: Just some nice talking. Aww they're bonding

Heads up, a few chapters on there'll be a look into the past that's supposed to be one whole part, but will have to be seperated into two chaps cos its so damn big :I

Buuuut anyway. R+R pls :3

Much love~ 3


	6. Chapter 6

JANUARY 6th, 2017, SOUTH FLORIDA

ALFRED'S POV

"Artie..."

When I got no reaction, I ducked under the top of the bunk bead and tapped his shoulders.

"Artie, wake up."

A slight mumble and he shifted a bit. I wasn't impatient, but I often wished some people woke up faster. I patted his shoulder a bit firmer and he began to stir.

"What?" he slurred, still half-conscious.

"I said I'd sneak us out to go look at some constellations, so that's what we're gonna do. C'mon, get up."

He sat upright and gave me an incredulous stare. "You can't be serious. It's just past midnight, Alfred, and I would much rather sleep."

"Nah, you'll regret you said that when I take you back to the lake. There's a real pretty glade on the other side where you can see the whole sky. Hurry up, I'll wait outside."

Before he could get a word in, I swiftly left the cabin and gently closed the door. I had glimpsed at a watch of a passer-by a few moments ago. It would soon be one in the morning. The sky was almost black, with flecks of indigo surrounding the half-moon. Arthur would surely eat his words when we got to the lake.

Speaking of Arthur, I heard him leave the cabin with his coat thrown around his shoulders, heading towards me with an icy glare.

"Alfred, it's bloody freezing out here, and you're taking me stargazing? Are you out of your mind?"

"Shh, keep your voice down!" I whispered, even motioning for him to keep quiet. I went behind the cabin and stood by the fence. "C'mon, I'll help you up and over."

Arthur didn't even look reluctant. His expression before he edged closer seemed to read determination; 'I've gotten myself into this, it'd be stupid to back down'. He stomped up to me and I hooked my hands together, to which he used to prop himself higher than the fence and haul himself over. I followed quickly, jumped up and over effortlessly. I saw Arthur scowling under his breath and retracing the steps back to the lake.

... ... ...

The lake was even prettier at night. White shards of moonlight highlighted the blackness of the water, broken by occasional ripples from the chilly wind. I trekked through the forest behind it, Arthur close by, until the trees thinned out and opened up to a vast field bordered by withered cherry woods and weeping willows, gorgeous coreopsis clumps and sparse bunches of lavender. Arthur audibly gasped and I felt a rush of proud satisfaction.

I headed further out into the field to a patch of flattened grass and sat down, Arthur following a little cautiously.

"You seem to know your way around." he noted.

"Well, I snuck out before I woke you up so I wouldn't accidentally get you lost." I grinned sheepishly.

"Idiot," he hissed. "I'm not as useless as you think I am."

"Precautions, Artie. C'mon, get yourself down here or you'll break your neck from looking up."

Arthur muttered and threw curses at me under his breath as he sat down and, to my instruction, laid back so that he could take in the full expanse of the sky. I laid back too, a foot or two away from him. It was a while before either of us said anything.

"So, point out some constellations, smart-arse."

I smirked.

"Okay. When's your birthday?"

He took a moment to reply. "April 23rd. Why?"

I grinned happily. "Ah, you're a true Taurus, then. The bull, if I'm not mistaken. Materialistic and determined, stable and all that fancy stuff."

I squinted up at the sky, eyes slipping past millions of tiny stars, bright stars, blurred stars and prominent stars, and I scooted to Arthur and pointed to a constellation that I hoped was in his line of vision.

"See those three stars, just there? Kinda looks like a letter Y if you imagine the pictures where they draw lines through 'em. Look, that part'd be the head and there, that's the legs. That star there is the rest of the body."

Arthur stayed silent as he stared at the sky, so I moved onto another one.

"My birthday is on July 4th, also Independence Day. Ain't that awesome? Twice the reason to celebrate! So that makes me a Cancer, which is the crab."

Arthur snorted.

"So that makes me dedicated, with a passion for justice. 'Ere, look just there..."

I pointed to a spot in the sky, watching as Arthur's emerald eyes followed.

"Those, the stars that make an oblong box shape. That makes up the body, and I guess you could say those bits are the claws."

I moved back and fell into a comfortable silence, with the occasional sharp gust of wind and the rustle of the grass. I looked at Arthur, he was still looking at the constellations. I wondered if he could make out any others.

"What's your favourite one?" I asked.

"Iota Draconis. The constellation Draco." Arthur breathed quietly.

"The dragon?" I asked, looking back at the stars, sifting through the tiny lights. "Right next to Ursa Minor, there."

"I feel so small," Arthur whispered suddenly.

I almost didn't hear him, he was so quiet. My eyes shifted from the sky towards Arthur. He looked almost transfixed, hypnotized, lips parted and eyes lidded in a content daze. He looked vulnerable, and indeed, rather small compared to the huge canvas above. I said nothing as he looked like he was going to continue.

"I mean, the planet is minuscule compared to the sun, but imagine those other stars, Antares and Pollux, and that Canis Majoris, and we are no larger than a grain of sand."

He paused for a second.

"And those stars are still only within a galaxy, and there are galaxies bigger than this," he said in a hushed voice, as if afraid he was telling a life-altering secret.

He turned his head to face mine and he had a subtle, yet, at the same time, an almost definite expression of fear, mixed with awe and contemplation and understanding all at once.

"It's such a small world, Alfred. Don't you think that is both terrifying and beautiful?"

I'd had the same thought processes a lot of times. About how small and insignificant we really are, about how big things could get out in deep space, about the magnificent possibilities of life and living on other planets. The topic of the universe would never bore me. It was always so mind-bogglingly vast and unpredictable and made me never stop questioning every little thing until I confused myself.

But the way Arthur had worded it made the whole idea seem so fresh and new and simply wondrous, that it made my heart skip a beat.

Just by placing him in a landscape as scenic and as fantastical as the one we were in, I had knocked him off his guard and made him appear so very insignificant and scared that I almost felt guilty. It was almost endearing.

Then he looked back at the sky as he idly carded his fingers through strips of crisp grass, sighing and closing his eyes.

"We are so unimportant. Why do we bother with things such as money and politics and war when life literally roots back to being so painstakingly simple? If people just stopped and looked around them, to see the amount of death and homelessness, famine and disease, we'd have no time for wars. We could just live in peace and respect everything, admire the beauty of our homes before we end up killing mankind and the planet with it."

My throat constricted slightly when Arthur almost seemed pained to talk like that. I felt lucky that he would share his honest opinion like that, so heartfelt and longing. I felt as helpful as a brick wall as Arthur spoke.

"You know, Alfred," he whispered.

Swallowing, I looked to the side to see dull green eyes connect with mine. He suddenly looked so broken.

"Yes?"

"I think this war will be the last."

"What makes you say that?"

The Englishman glanced up at the sky, in an attempt to throw himself back into his mood of wonder and amazement. As if it didn't work, he looked back at me.

"I don't know. I couldn't possibly know, either. I won't be here to face a possible fourth war, now would I? But I have a feeling. People are too ignorant and selfish to understand what they're doing - tearing families apart, tearing homes apart, tearing countries apart." he paused, taking a breath calmly. "Tearing the whole damn world apart."

He seemed finished with his speech, content on staring at the sky woefully as if it both held the answers to ever mystery and would solve the problems that seemed to ripping the world at its seams. I looked at the moon, a spindly sliver of white on black.

"What are you afraid of losing?" I asked suddenly.

Arthur had a guarded expression again, but he didn't differ to how he acted previously. "I suppose I don't rightly know. Anyone normal would say their family."

He didn't add on to that, and I frowned slightly.

"You aren't afraid of losing your family? In this war? Ever?"

"I never said that," he responded evenly. "Why, what are you afraid of losing?"

I shifted on my back slightly, considering the question.

"I think you'd never really know what you're afraid of losing until you lose it."

Arthur thought about my answer, and at the same time I asked another question.

"What would you give up to settle ever fued on the planet? Y'know, world peace, that kind of thing."

"My life." he said haughtily.

I sat up and drew my knees to my chest, studying Arthur for a moment. He looked back at me and furrowed his brows, almost glaring at me.

"You're an interesting person, Arthur. I honestly thought you were stuck-up and arrogant when I first met you, and now you prove me wrong. You're really selfless aren't you?"

"I'd like to think so in a dire situation." he replied with almost no emotion. Then he full-on glared. "I'm not selfless, Alfred. I'm simply one of the few people who actually gives a damn about what the world will inevitably come to, who will go to drastic and life-endangering measures if necessary. I've been rather honest so far, and I'll continue with the charade. In my honest, truest opinion, Alfred, I think a good ninety-nine percent of the population could die before people realise what had happened. For the time being, those exact people act as if they're surprised by the damage they themselves caused. Being selfless doesn't matter in this day and age. It gets you nowhere, just like protests and wars. It doesn't matter, because war never changes."

He paused, taking an overly-calm breath and visibly shaking with pent up rage.

"War never changes," he repeated. "You can bring Hell upon the planet, and people will still kill each other and treat each other like dirt! It all comes down to war and violence, Alfred. It's in our blood. We are capable of blowing this godforsaken rock into bits, and you know what? Sometimes, I think, 'to hell with it! Let's nuke the goddamn planet and end our misery!'. In a war like this, selflessness means absolutely nothing. The only place it will get you to is your own bloody grave!"

Arthur had long since stood up, towering over me as I still kneeled on the ground, snarling at me and looking like he was going to full-on deck me in the face. I had listened to his outraged rant, quite carefully. Although he was practically arguing and taking his anger out on me, I could see that, maybe, he kind of had a point.

But I didn't want to fight. I came out with Arthur to show him the prettiest place for miles of the state in the middle of war, and I'd be damned if I was going to let his chauvinistic explosion ruin that.

I moved back and got to my feet, turning and beginning to walk back through the sparse trees that thickened into the little forest. I looked over my shoulder and watched as Arthur reluctantly followed, purposefully keeping a good while away from me.

Even if he did erupt suddenly, aimed seemingly at me, I called to him as we entered the thick of the forest.

"I hope you enjoyed the stars, Arthur."

... ... ...

A/N: dun dun dunnnn THEY FOUGHT ONOES

Several things to mention here. My knowledge of constellations is awful I know, I spent five mins googling it :p and Arthur's little rant at the end mentions 'war never changes'. I totally didn't snag that from fallout.

Awesome game. Aw yeah.

Sooo, R+Rs welcome. Thanks to reviews so far~

Much love 3


	7. Chapter 7

JANUARY 8th, 2017, SOUTH FLORIDA ALFRED'S POV

It had been two days since Arthur's outburst, and apparently he did aim it at me, because he hadn't uttered a word to me since then.

I kind of felt bad for Arthur. I honestly didn't know a lot about him - still don't - and I had to go and assume he was selfless and whatever other stupid thing I'd said that night. Looking around the camp the morning after we returned from the glade, I noticed that nobody really struck me as willing to give themselves up for the good of humanity. People say they would, just to look good, but they don't mean it. Biased, I'd heard Arthur scowl behind me when we walked back. Even aimed at me, I couldn't help but sullenly agree.

But I did feel bad for him. I didn't know what things he'd been through back in England, and he obviously didn't plan on telling me anytime soon. His anger most likely came from past troubles.

That was what Francis had said to me anyway.

I'd been glancing at Arthur every so often over the past two days, wondering what kind of things he did after a quarrel with someone, seeing as he hadn't yet looked ready for forgiving anyone. Turns out he just kind of ignored their existence. Only once he'd looked back at me, and he gave me a really dirty look.

It was early afternoon, probably just after twelve. I sat with Francis and two of the German evacuees. One of them looked like an albino, but I didn't say anything. The other looked way too posh and snooty to be in a place such as this.

Francis had mentioned a Gilbert and an Antonio after we met again. I was stuck on deciding whether this was the Gilbert he was talking about or not.

My conversation with Francis had long since subdued since the two Germans had started arguing in whispers, in what sounded like a ridiculous mash-up of German and English. The albino glanced at me.

"Mind the eavesdropping, bro? Very un-awesome," he drawled with a wicked smile.

"Do shut your mouth, Gilbert." the other seethed.

I grinned. "Hey, you're buddies with Franny, right?"

Gilbert blinked, then smirked. "Ja, obviously. Who wouldn't want to be buddies with the awesome me?"

"Gilbert..." the other said, exasperated.

"Alfred, right? I think Frenchie here once mentioned you when he was gloating about his little Canadian." the albino ignored him.

I nodded, flashing him my best smile. "Sure am - Alfred Jones, at your service!"

Gilbert's brilliant red eyes gave me a once over, and he gave a minute nod of approval. The man next to him looked ready to deck him around the face.

"Oh yeah, and this stick-up-the-ass dude is Roderich, my bestest friend ever," he said, much like a child. "Ain't that right, Roddy baby?"

Roderich slapped the back of his head.

"Ow, bro! Totally not awesome!" he grimaced, rubbing the spot where he'd been hit. "You're evil."

"If evil meant shutting up egotistical and arrogant fools such as yourself, then by all means, yes, I am." Roderich frowned daintily.

"You're the meanest Austrian I've ever met." Gilbert whined.

"You have never met another Austrian."

I interrupted their friendly chat. "You're from Australia?"

Francis smirked and shook his head, amused. "Non, Austria, Alfred."

"Yeah, that one."

Roderich nodded. "Yes, I am from Austria. Unfortunately I was brought up in Germany, so I sound much more like this oaf here."

Gilbert had his feet on the table, pulling at his laces with a dramatic pout on his face. Roderich shooed his feet from the surface and lectured him shortly about common manners. I smiled. They seemed like an old married couple.

Then I noticed the plain silver ring around the Austrian's finger.

"You're married?" I asked suddenly.

Roderich halted his snapping at the albino and glanced at his left hand for a fraction of a second before nodding shortly, looking my way.

"Mm." was all he said.

"Oh, who's the lucky lady, huh?" I asked, leaning forward, eager for any nice conversation I couldn't have with Arthur.

Roderich seemed to freeze at the question, slowly lowering his hand and looking frostily at the table top. He took a good moment before he finally replied.

"It's Gilbert, actually." he said quietly.

Gilbert sat up straight and flashed his own ring. It was just as plain, just a thin silver band. "Roddy's right."

"You two, married?" even Francis seemed shocked. Then a smile tugged at his lips. "Bien fait!"

"That's great, guys," I grinned, before I faltered slightly. "You don't look entirely happy about it. Was it, uh... forced, or somethin'?"

"No, no!" Roderich quickly denied. "It's just... we haven't had a proper wedding. Well, no wedding, as of yet. Gilbert proposed some months after the war began, but we'd already been shipped to America. Homosexual marriage is illegal in Florida, so we cannot do anything."

Roderich and Gilbert shared a long look, as if recalling the moment the albino presented himself with a little ring, asking for marriage. The look they gave each other was deep and heartfelt.

The previous mood was killed. I looked down at the table, counting the cracks and chips in the wood. The bustling in the hall we were in was almost deafening now that none of us were speaking.

"I'd like to marry some day," Francis said wistfully.

I glanced at him, knowing where this was going. "Well first, you'd probably wanna move out of Florida and go somewhere like New York or Cali. Gay marriage is legal there. And you'd have to track Mattie down."

The Frenchman sighed. "Je sais... But what if Mathieu is already here, in Florida, trying to avoid the worst of the war?"

"Then he'd better start looking for us, cos it doesn't seem like any of us are moving anytime soon."

"Awesome," Gilbert put in sarcastically.

I looked at Roderich and his ring. "How do you manage?"

As if knowing what I meant he gave a tiny smile. "We just say we have wives. It's the only excuse."

"That's gotta be harsh though, right?" I asked, but then added, "What's your dream wedding?"

Gilbert visibly scooted closer to the Austrian and hung an arm around his shoulder. Roderich's face coloured slightly as Gilbert spoke. "Roddy wants it traditional and stuff. I'll let the little prince have his wish because I love him so much."

"Gilbert." his partner scowled, shaking him off.

All four of us talked about nonsense for some more hours. When we'd all broken up, I had milled around the camp in boredom, not doing anything worth effort, so I literally walked aimlessly about until it was getting late.

Arthur was nevertheless really intent on avoiding me. I wondered why he wasn't like this on the day after we actually fought. Today, though, whenever he'd caught me looking at him, he would make an effort to move himself far away from me, which was difficult, considering the small camp.

When lunch had came around earlier, I attempted to sit near the bench where Arthur has isolated himself at, but he noticed and promptly moved. I honestly felt disappointed, with myself mostly. But I didn't do anything because I didn't want to force Arthur into forgiving me. If he did forgive me anyway.

It was nearing the time that everyone turned in to their cabins, so I gratefully hurried along to my own, bored and tired and having not bothered to do anything productive for the most of the day. The previous two nights, Arthur had already been in his own bunk, fast asleep or outright refusing to answer 'good night' back when I bid him so.

However, when I opened the cabin door, I saw Arthur just sitting cross-legged on the bed, back to me, looking as if he was mulling over an object in his hands. It looked as if hadn't noticed me, so I silently eased the door shut and tip-toed closer to him, kneeling on the concrete and watching Arthur. He looked as if he was writing, if his irregular arm movements were anything to go by.

I just sat there, listening to the faint scribbling and scratching of pencil on paper. It was rather relaxing. I wondered for how long Arthur had been here, silently writing. I wondered what he was actually writing. He mentioned an interest for literature some days ago.

Then again, it could have been a diary.

Suddenly, Arthur began humming calmly under his breath.

And then he began singing.

I didn't know a lot of musical people. Roderich had admitted he was a fine piano player today, but most people I knew couldn't hold a note to save their lives. However, Arthur had a talent I don't think even he was aware of. His voice, although hushed and hoarse from being quiet, was almost heavenly.

No, I'm pretty sure it was most certainly more than heavenly.

Almost at once, I recognised the song he was singing. A slower, much more sombre version of You Are My Sunshine. I listened to him intently, soothed by his gentle performance. He would soon notice me, but right now that was the least of my worries.

I really loved this song, but the slow alteration made it even better. Arthur's accent came out as strong as his speech, complimenting the lyrics and the melody. But of course all good things must eventually come to an end. He ceased the singing and shuffled something around in his hands.

"You have an amazing voice."

Arthur visibly started, jerking in surprise and whipping his head around to look at me. His eyes were an acidic green, wide and unblinking with shock. I offered a watered down smile, to which he narrowed his eyes at and turned his lips up in a sneer.

"Thank you," he said bitterly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I sighed inwardly and got to my feet, backing up to the wall and leaning against it in a relaxed way, hoping my body language showed that I was being honest and open. Arthur never took his eyes off me, looking as if he was sizing me up, about to pounce and tear me to shreds.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I- yeah, I know, I'm an idiot, I'm a dumbass, whatever, but..."

I trailed off, hoping Arthur would catch on and say something. Of course, Arthur being Arthur, he definitely caught on, but remained silent in a tight-lipped leer. I reached up a hand to my face to run through my hair, smoothing it back save for that annoying little strand that defied gravity.

"I am sorry, Artie, I-"

"Arthur." he hissed.

I stifled a smile. "I am sorry, Arthur. Swear- look, hand on my heart." I placed a hand over my heart as promised. "I'll admit I don't really know why you took that thing to heart the other day, but for whatever I did, I am sorry. I don't like seein' you so miserable, and you're really mean for avoiding me."

Arthur kept his mouth shut.

"C'mon, Arthur, I don't know what else to say. The only thing goin' on in my mind is that I'm sorry for being an ass and you have a really nice voice."

That seemed to surprise Arthur, despite that being the first thing I'd said to him, and after several days too. He shifted about on the bed, looking spacey for the most part. I gradually made my way over to the bed, sitting on the very edge despite the little glare he sent me.

"Thank you," he repeated without the bitter edge. "But you are still an arse, Alfred Jones."

Knowing that would be the best form of an apology I'd get from him, I grinned and slowly edged further back on the bed.

"Love you too."

Arthur scowled at me as he turned over the object in his hands, which I noticed was some sort of small book, bound with worn leather. There was a thick fountain pen attached to the outside, which Arthur was tapping his finger against.

"Diary?"

Arthur glanced at me. "I suppose you could call it that. A thing to write my sane thoughts into, at least."

"Sane thoughts?"

"It's World War Three; don't you think some of us would have darker thoughts?"

I shrugged one shoulder. "You don't seem like the kinda person to have dark thoughts. You're like one of those high school girls that write in their diaries about their true loves and how to get rid of their rivals."

Arthur snorted. "So I'm a school girl? Thanks."

"What kind of things are in there?"

Arthur's fingers visibly tightened around the book. "Ordinary things that one would write about."

"Ah, what happened to those dark thoughts?"

"Belt up."

"Seeing as you're back to your normal self, does that mean you forgive me?"

"No."

"Thanks, I forgive you too."

At the same time Arthur began protesting, I threw my arms around his shoulders in a big hug, only serving to make Arthur complain and curse at me louder. I let him go with an elated grin.

"Are we best friends again?"

"We never were friends," Arthur snapped, albeit with a hint of an amused smile. "Stop asking."

"C'mon, we're good buddies now and you know it."

"I beg to differ."

Arthur had obviously forgiven me, because by the time we had finished chatting about absolute rubbish throughout the night, it was almost the early morning, and we could hear some other people awaking, so I assumed Arthur and I had certainly made up.

* * *

A/N: One more chapter before I go on a short hiatus for Christmas, since I haven't updated this one in a while. I've got plans for a few more oneshots, some cracky and such, and my other fic (I Don't Want to Say I Told You So) will be the next to be updated.

Have a great Christmas + new year guys! :D

Much love 3


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: ok so I tried finishing this two days ago but my internet decided to screw me over at the last minute when I clicked save. Sooo, I had to rewrite the end all over again D: so i'm sorry if it seems sloppy towards the end ahhh_

_there's a bit of action in this and a sad moment for Arthur (possibly ooc idk shh). Enjoy!_

_much love 3_

* * *

JANUARY 10th, 2017, SOUTH FLORIDA

ALFRED'S POV

Arthur hadn't slept since we made up. That night the camp had been invaded by raiders. Two people were killed and I'd heard that Gilbert had got away with some injuries. I myself had tried to fend off some of the raiders, and I barely dodged a bullet to the face. I'd knocked one of the marauders and I'd heard gunshots going off all around. I couldn't find Arthur for the most of the raid, but he made himself known when the guards had fended of the last of the raiders, by emerging from the cabin where he had situated himself. He refused to talk about what happened.

Yesterday there had been talk of supplies running low and guards were picking out volunteers to go out of the camp and salvage the small outskirts of the town half a mile or so away. I'd volunteered, and Arthur followed soon after, still refusing to talk about anything along the lines of what happened that night.

Now, day fading into night, Arthur and I were prepping to leave. The guards had given us each a backpack, a flashlight and a gun, although Arthur had requested to have it swapped for a bow and arrow. We were ready to leave, so I went out first, exchanging a few words with the guard about safety precautions and what to do if we came across raiders or the bombings came closer. Arthur followed suit, looking back once at the camp as we walked further and further away.

"Is it really safe to do this at night?" he asked, eyeing the gun I was turning the safety off of.

"Better than being caught in broad daylight. We'll be less easy to spot." I explained.

As we made our way closer to the remnants of a bombed environ, Arthur became visibly more and more edgy by the second. We ended up hidden in the shadows of a small shop without a roof and crumbling walls, although it served well for an emergency place of shelter until we found another place. We stopped for a moment, having walked for over twenty minutes or so, and I took this time to count the bullets I had. The magazine was lacking one bullet, so I only had six bullets. I was lucky I was a good aim, lest I waste them all in one go.

"What are we looking for?"

I glanced up at Arthur, who was crouching below half-torn wall to occasionally peer up over the bricks into the derelict streets. In his hands he was restlessly tugging at the string of his bow and he seemed ready to go as soon as.

"The guard told me that we're looking for any and all foods and any medical stuff we can find. There've been rumors of raiders getting closer to the camp, so the guards can't send out an official force to collect food yet."

"So they send out two of the campers?" Arthur muttered. "Very safe. Where exactly do you plan on going?"

I crawled next to Arthur, keeping to the shade, and looked over the broken wall. I could see some old signs hanging from the walls, worn and rusted and broken, but nevertheless the tell-tale signs that hung near a shop. I nodded towards one of them.

"Those shops might be barricaded up, but they could have some stuff in there. If you go in, I can keep watch, yeah?"

"Fine." Arthur nodded.

I went out first, gun out ready. The sound of an explosion rang through our ears and the buildings nearby were bathed in an orange glow for a moment. Smoke drifted up about a mile away from us, so we hurried to the shop and watched as Arthur kicked the door down. I was momentarily surprised by his strength. He stifled a satisfied smirk and began to head in.

"Call me short and weak now." he whispered and disappeared into the building.

I stood with my back to the door, gun aiming round every few seconds, eyes drifting over every source of a rustling sound. I heard Arthur making his way around the shop, the clinking of metals and the occasional thing falling and being shifted about. Suddenly, loud shout in another language made me tense. I started as a gunshot pierced the air and a bullet bounced off the wall not a foot away from me. I rounded the door and kicked it shut, startling Arthur in the process.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" he demanded in a hoarse voice as he zipped up his backpack.

"Raiders, get down!" I ordered as a bullet tore through the already broken window.

I dived down to the floor, pushing Arthur down behind a counter with me. He regained his previous position on his knees, hunched over his bag. He took out an arrow and held it and the bow tightly, glancing at me expectantly.

"Well, your plan?" he persisted.

I quickly looked around and spotted a way up to the roof. I motioned towards it. "Up there. If you can aim at the raiders from the roof, you should be able to take half of 'em out. How many arrows you got?"

"Six."

"I've got six bullets. There are thirteen raiders out there."

"What about the last one?" Arthur said, worry creeping into his tone.

"We'll sort that out when we come to it," I reasoned. "Go on up, I'll stay down here and take some of them out. Keep quiet and stay where it's dark."

Arthur snorted. "Yes, sir."

He made his way silently out the back door and began his ascent up to the roof. When he disappeared from sight, I turned and crawled to the opposite wall, crouching beneath the window. Without hesitation, I rose and aimed my gun, pulling the trigger and taking down one of the raiders. Almost seconds after my shot, a raider a good while away fell to the ground with an arrow waving about from its spot on his chest. I was grateful that I was with a championship archer.

"Alfred, there's one coming in through the back!" Arthur's voice called out from above.

I whipped around and barely dodged a fist flying towards my face. With relative ease, I tackled him to the ground and looked away as I shot him in the face. I didn't want to see the blood spilling from a man I'd killed up close. I wasn't that cold-hearted just yet. I manoeuvred around the body and rushed out of the shop, taking cover below a brick fence. I heard a pained cry somewhere behind me that was quite close. From my hiding spot, I could see the edge of the roof and the outline of Arthur aligning another arrow against the bow string.

I took a short breather before leaving my cover, taking down two raiders on my way to the wall opposite while Arthur quickly got rid of another three. A small explosion sounded off behind me as I went, leaving me lucky to escape the span of the grenade. Safe against the shelter the wall provided, I could lean slightly out and shoot at another raider. Arthur used his last arrow to get a raider that was slowly making his way over to me. With two left and only one bullet in my gun, I prayed that my firearm wouldn't fail me now.

Dashing out of my cover, spotting two raiders nearly right in front of me. I dodged a bullet that soared through the air dangerously close to my arm and used my last bullet to kill the one who had shot at me. The winding sensation of being slammed against a wall then caught me by surprise. A hand held me tight against the bricks as the other brought a knife up to my throat. The cold metal glided along my skin, but little pressure was applied. The outline of Arthur slammed his elbow into the side of the raider's head.

With my hand brought to my neck to search for a serious injury, I stumbled back into the wall, resting against it. I looked up to see Arthur with his hands closing around the raider's neck as he lay helplessly on the floor with Arthur hovering above him. The strangled gasps and curses that left the raider's mouth in another language seemed to spur Arthur on to tighten his grip like a steel vice, slowly but surely ending his life. After what seemed like forever, the body fell limp, devoid of breath, and Arthur slowly backed away.

He looked down at his hands, almost unbelieving and an expression of fear and vulnerability contorted is face. His mouth opened and closed, but he couldn't form a coherent sentence.

"I-I... I didn't... I..."

I hurried over to him and placed my hands upon his shoulders, gently shaking him and coaxing him to look at me.

"Arthur, are you okay? Talk to me, Artie, please..."

His train of focus drifted up to my eyes. Words spilled from his mouth in a hoarse whisper so quiet that I strained to hear.

"I didn't mean to physically kill anyone..."

Arthur suddenly pushed against my hands and left me in awe as he stepped in closer and wrapped his arms around my upper waist. I didn't expect Arthur out of all people to resort to such an embrace of sorts, but I responded in the only way I knew would work. My own arms found their way around Arthur, making it comfortable for him while he rested his face against my shoulder and openly cried. I murmured nonsense that I hoped would be reassuring and consoling into his dirtied hair.

We stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, until Arthur gradually pried himself away from me and glanced once more at his hands. The tear stains on his cheeks made him look so fearful and shaken, it made my heart clench uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry." he said, voice breathy and ragged.

"What for?"

He shook his head. "For doing that. Being weak and unable."

"Don't be stupid. I'm assuming that's the first time you've had to deal with death that intense, huh? It's okay, Arthur."

"R-right, right..." he took a deep breath, then shakily let it go. "Can we just... stop all of this for a few minutes?"

I nodded resolutely and went with him back to the shop we were first in. We found Arthur's abandoned backpack in one of the aisles, so that was where we sat, opposite old and rusted shelves where there should have been appetising food, but instead there were cobwebs and torn pieces of packaging. I'd imagined that people had already came and went, taking as many supplies as they could along with them.

Arthur absentmindedly shifted closer and closer to me along the floor, until he was rested against my shoulder. I placed my arm around him and gently pulled him closer so he was more comfortable, to which he offhandedly muttered at but allowed all the same, welcomed it even. Soon enough, his breathing evened out and became quieter, so I let Arthur have his light slumber.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the body of the raider I had shot earlier, blood pooling around the head and trailing down the cracks of the tiled floor. I grimaced and set about moving Arthur ever so slightly so that he was somewhat shielded from the scene, lest he wake up in an even more traumatised mood. He mumbled softly in his sleep as he moved and I stifled a smile.

I occupied myself by tapping my empty gun soundlessly against the ground in a distrait manner, humming faintly and rubbing nonsensical soothing patterns into my friend's shoulder.

"Sleep as long as you like, Artie." I whispered.


End file.
